


Someone To Watch Over Me

by Barb G (troutkitty), Ophelia Coelridge (daemonluna)



Category: Hard Core Logo (1996), Murder Most Likely (1999)
Genre: Child Abuse, Crossover, Dysfunctional Family, M/M, Pre-Canon, Road Trip
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2004-02-19
Updated: 2004-02-19
Packaged: 2017-10-14 05:35:43
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 10,627
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/145932
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/troutkitty/pseuds/Barb%20G, https://archiveofourown.org/users/daemonluna/pseuds/Ophelia%20Coelridge
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Billy and Joe go on a road trip and meet a mountie.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Someone To Watch Over Me

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [Graven Image](https://archiveofourown.org/works/145907) by [Barb G (troutkitty)](https://archiveofourown.org/users/troutkitty/pseuds/Barb%20G), [Ophelia Coelridge (daemonluna)](https://archiveofourown.org/users/daemonluna/pseuds/Ophelia%20Coelridge). 



> Sequel to [Graven Image](http://archiveofourown.org/works/145907).

Billy was home again. Fucked if he knew why.

The knives and forks clinked against the plates which rattled against the glasses which hit the table-top with muted rings. His own foot tapped nervously against the table-leg, and he was ignoring his father’s resolute attempts to avoid meeting his eye. They were such a nice, normal, straight family. No-one noticed when he filled up his juice glass with red wine. Again.

His grandmother wouldn’t have seen it, what with her failing eyesight and all, and his mother was too glad that he’d actually shown up to care. Which left his father. And him. And damned if either one of them were going to acknowledge the other’s existence any time soon.

He pictured Joe, back at the trailer, pizza congealing in the cardboard box on the coffee table.

He'd left him with his feet up on the couch, all his attention was ostensibly fixed on peeling the label from his beer bottle in the longest possible continuous strip.

"Huge fuckin’ step back, Billy," Joe had snarled when Billy had told him he was going back to his parents’ for dinner... okay, for the weekend.

"I can’t fucking help it, Joe," Billy had snapped in return, raking one hand through his hair in frustation. At this rate he’d be bald before he was thirty. " _You_ explain to my fucking grandmother why I’m not there for her _fucking_ eightieth birthday and then we’ll talk." And his mother had asked him. Nicely.

Sullen silence.

"I hate your fucking family," Joe grumbled.

"You and me both."

"Yeah, well," Joe continued, "you’re not supposed to like your goddamn inlaws anyhow, so I guess I’m set."

"What, you’re not going to take me home to meet _your_ relatives?"

Dead silence.

"No. Fuck, no."

" ’kay then, guess we’re even," Billy said finally.

"We’re not even. You still owe me one for last night."

"Fuck off, Joe," Billy had responded easily, side-stepping Joe’s attempts to grope him. "You can wait twenty-four hours. Not like you’re going to explode."

"Shows what you know." Joe draped himself across the sagging sofa. "Call me when you need help moving the bodies."

"You fucking better help," Billy had grumbled, and let the door slam shut behind him.

"Accomplice after the fact! Billy, you make me so fucking proud!" Joe called through the door.

"Asshole."

***

"So William, how’s school?" his grandmother asked.

"Just fine," Billy smiled sweetly; he still remembered how to do that. The house hadn’t changed at all in the six months since he’d.... left. "I’m learning all sorts of new things."

His father’s water glass hit the table top harder than was strictly necessary. Billy held the sweet smile. His cheeks ached.

"Isn’t that nice," she said vaguely, filling up her wine glass again. Clink. Clank. Clatter. Billy reached for his own glass.

He helped his mother clear the table afterwards, just like a good boy should. "So, how’s, um..."

"His name is Joe, remember?"

"How’s Joe?" she asked, teeth gritted. Sounding pleasant. Almost.

"Good," Billy replied curtly. "He’s good. I’m good. We’re good."

"Are you eating your vegetables?" she asked by rote, wrapping the left-over roast in tinfoil.

"We’ve got something green in the bottom of the fridge, but I don’t think it started out that way," he said blandly, putting the salt and pepper shakers back in the cupboard. Damn, he needed a smoke.

"Light the candles for me, dear," his mother said, ignoring his last comment. Just like always.

He resisted the temptation to tell her the story about the time that Joe had him cornered in the kitchen, pinned him against the fridge, and--fuck, yet another craving to grit his teeth and push aside until tomorrow.

Birthday cake. Right. Yum.

His mother had started the dishes and his father disappeared into his study as soon as they’d finished the cake and ice cream; his grandmother settled in the armchair beside the T.V. Picture-perfect. Just like the rest of the whole goddamn fucking family.

Sure. And he’d be just fine until then without a smoke.

"So anyway, Grandma, about this guy I’m fucking," he said politely. Of course they hadn’t _actually_ fucked, but he didn’t figure she’d want all the technical details.

A genteel snore was his only response.

Screw this. He needed a smoke. Hell, after tonight, he needed a drink, something stronger than cheap table wine. A drink, and Joe right there beside him reminding exactly why he’d left in the first place.

He’d have to settle for just the smoke.

But when he got outside onto the porch, he could hear the raised voices coming from his father’s study. Just like always. It shouldn’t be so fucking depressing to realize that nothing had changed. With or without him.

Click. "Two hours and forty-seven minutes. That’s gotta be a new record," Joe said, emerging from the shadows beside the house. He was carrying a stopwatch. It had been their grade ten gym teacher's once, but Joe had had it for a while now.

"Shit! You stood there and fucking _watched_? And what the _fuck_ are you doing with that shovel?"

"Diggin’," Joe leered companionably, leaning on the aforementioned shovel. "You done with them yet, or are ya just taking a breather? Don’t tell me I dug the graves for nothing."

"That's not a grave, it's a fucking pothole in the flowerbed."

"Fucking semantics, Billiam. We bury what's left."

"Where'd the shovel come from?"

Joe stared at the shovel in his hands, the picture of bewildered innocence, and then threw it over his shoulder. "Urban crime sprees are on the rise, I’ve gotta tell you." He shook his head sadly. "What _are_ today’s youth coming to?"

"You’d know," Billy snorted. "You’re a whole fucking urban crime spree all by yourself."

"Nah, I’ve got help with that." Joe slung one arm over Billy’s shoulder. "And now I’ve come to steal you and have my way with you, little boy."

"Three weeks, Joe, just give me three weeks until I turn eighteen too, and you’ll _have_ to drop the little boy shit."

"Somebody’s cranky. Did you miss your nap?"

"Fuck you too."

"My, you _are_ eager for bedtime."

"Let’s just get the fuck out of here, okay?"

"What, you don’t want to introduce me to grandma dearest?"

Billy stopped. Considered. "Nah, the heart attack’d kill her, and I’m out of the will anyhow."

"Let's blow this fucking joint," Joe gestured grandly into the darkened street.

"You got any on you?"

Joe just plucked the cigarette from Billy's mouth. "You’re so tense, Billiam. Can’t be healthy. You know what you need?"

"For you to stop swiping my smokes?"

"Nah, besides that."

"What then?"

"Two words, Billy m’man. Road. Trip."

"Fuck, yeah."

That was how it started.

***

They’d hitched a ride all the way to Langely with a bible salesman from Taber. Joe had actually prayed with the fucker after the hour-long sermon about the evils of intoxicating substances and the unnatural sins of the flesh. Thank god he hadn’t noticed the obscene blow-job gestures Joe had made with his tongue in his cheek while the man’s head was bowed.

After the near-accident, they were picked up by a trucker who took them all the way to the outskirts of Kelowna. Joe solemnly gave him the New Testament he’d stolen from the salesman in a grand thank-you gesture.

The hostel was full that night, and while Joe was off trying to argue his way in, Billy scored some weed off a couple from Spokane.

"Hey, Joe. Look at this."

"Billy, Billy, Billy! Not in the middle of the fucking street!" Joe hissed, draping his arm around Billy’s shoulders.

The path down to the beach was well-trodden, and with the breeze blowing in off the lake, the warmth of Joe’s arm was... nice.

"Fuck, Joe, don’t ever let me go back to my parents’ again."

"That’s what you said last time. And the time before that. And if memory serves..." Joe cupped a hand around the joint, and thumbed the lighter with practiced ease. He inhaled deeply, held it, and slowly exhaled, putting the lit joint to Billy’s lips. "Suck," he commanded casually.

Billy sucked. It wasn’t like he had to be told twice. The warm smoke lingered bitterly at the back of his throat, and by the time he exhaled, his head was starting to swim.

When they finally made it down to the beach, neither of them noticed the cool wind at all. Joe’s denim jacket hung loosely over his shoulders, but when Billy tried to stuff the baggie into the pocket--someone had to keep it _safe_ , after all--Joe stopped him.

"No, it’s your stash," he said giddily, waving the baggie in Billy’s face. " _You_ take it."

"Joe, what are you--don’t--you _fucker_!" Billy gasped as Joe stuffed the pot down the front of his pants. "Fuckin’ plastic’s _cold_! And watch what you’re grabbing, you asshole!" The impact was lost when he burst into a fit of giggles.

"What, y’mean I shouldn’t do _this_?" Joe tackled him, breath leaving Billy’s lungs as he hit the hard sand. "Or _this_?" Joe loomed above him, blocking out the scattering of stars that shone overhead. He smelt like pot and sweat and diesel fuel, and under that, just Joe.

"Yeah, _that_ ," Billy choked as Joe’s lips moved closer. If he’d only shift half an inch down... Joe over him was hot enough that he was sweating despite the cold sand beneath him. Joe’s eyes were bright as he pushed himself up to his elbows.

"C’mon, Billy, please."

He could have made Joe beg for it more. Joe’d never actually ask to be sucked off, and if he were sober he’d force Joe to dance around the actual words. He smiled instead, working on Joe’s fly.

Billy pulled the jeans down past Joe's hips. "Ferchrissake," Joe hissed, but he wasn’t going to hurry Billy.

Billy loved the way Joe felt--the solid weight to him in his hands, the way the skin moved over the hardness, and the heat. He licked his lips, moved his head down half an inch, and then looked back to Joe again and smirked.

"You are going to get such a beating when you’re done," Joe growled.

Billy ran his thumb over the head of Joe’s cock and then moved his fist down Joe’s length, and Joe shuddered, complacent once again. Joe always tasted salty. He had just gotten his mouth over him when they both heard the measured applause coming from the treeline.

"What a positively inspired performance. And here I am without my popcorn."

Joe was off him in a heartbeat, zipped up and ready to fight. But it was hard to argue with the gun and badge flashed in his face straight off.

"Fuck."

"Such _language_ , and in front of an officer of the law, too. Boys, boys, boys, whatever am I going to do with you?"

"We didn’t do anything, man," Billy said unsteadily, climbing to his feet and shaking the sand out of the back of his t-shirt.

"Sure you didn’t. You were just out for a moonlight stroll, and you... slipped. Didn’t you? And your friend just... slipped too, right on top of you and into your mouth. Didn’t he?"

"Yeah, that’s right," Joe said defiantly.

"You sure did slip," the cop said evenly. He took a deep breath. "Oh my goodness, what is that I detect lingering in the summer’s breeze? You wouldn’t happen to have any sort of ... illegal substance on your persons, now would you?"

"No," Joe said brazenly.

"I didn’t think so." The cop dismissed him out of hand. "Step aside."

"Fuck that!" No-one but Billy would have heard the nervous edge creeping into Joe’s voice. "You want to fuck with someone, fuck with me."

"Oh, well I would, but it wasn’t you I saw purchasing the aforementioned illegal substance on a street corner earlier this evening. Was it."

Billy’s heart stopped. He didn’t know what freaked him worse, being caught, or knowing that the cop had followed them to the beach and... watched.

"I think we need to make a trip into the station now, don’t you?" he said genially. "Now are you going to cough it up, or do I have to go looking for it?"

Billy hesitated, and turned his back to fish the weed out of the front of his pants.

"Such modesty. That will be the first to go, you know."

"It’s mine. I put it there," Joe said angrily.

"I’m sure you did. But it is his bag. And his bust. And his pants. Run along home, little boy. I’ll take good care of your playmate. I promise."

"Fuck that!" And Joe, fucking idiot that he was, took a swing at the cop. The cop caught his fist easily and had him pinned down on the wet sand in the space of time it took Billy to blink.

"Don’t hurt him," Billy said hoarsely.

"Such tender sentiment. You do realize that you’re both making this far too easy."

Billy didn’t know what the hell he was talking about.

But Joe did.

***

The fucking cop didn’t arrest him for the swing he’d taken. Just smirked and called it a crime of passion, and said he was free to go. Fuck that. No way was he leaving Billy alone with the bastard. Billy wasn’t talking. He was still coming down from the high.

"Shit, Joe, what if he calls my dad?" Billy said under his breath, after the cop put the cuffs on him. Just him, and not Joe. And if that wasn’t fucking bad news, Joe didn’t know what was.

"Billy, shutthefuckup," Joe hissed.

"But--"

" _Now_."

"Sit, Billy. Stay. Gooood puppy," the cop said pleasantly, twisting his arms up further behind his back. Billy winced.

"Patrick Kelly?" the desk sergeant said, hanging up the phone. "We finally got through to RCMP headquarters. Your credentials checked out."

The cop--no, fucking _mountie_ \--frowned briefly, but answered pleasantly enough, "Well, that’s a relief. It’s nice to know that I still am who I say I am." The sergeant looked confused, but laughed dutifully. "And I’ll need you boys’ identification, naturally." The asshole just stood there, one hand out, waiting.

Joe had nothing to hide, and slapped his wallet angrily into the mountie’s open palm. Billy hung back, chewing nervously at his bottom lip.

"Identification, please." His voice was still pleasant and even. It made Joe want to just grab Billy and head for the door right then and there. Something was... off. Cops weren’t supposed to be this... polite. Not to punk-ass kids like them. He had to be after something.

"I am running out of patience." There, an undercurrent of anger running beneath the mockery. At least that was familiar.

Kelly slammed Billy against the wall and pinned him, knee between his legs.

"Do I have to do everything myself? Obviously so." He shook his head, tsking. "Now let’s just see what you’re packing..."

Billy tensed. Joe clenched his jaw as the bastard had the balls to reach into Billy’s back pocket and pull out his billfold.

From back at the desk, it must have looked like the norm, just subduing a perp, officer, no funny stuff going on here. I don’t have my knee in his crotch, really. But Joe saw Billy’s shoulders tense, saw how the bastard’s hand lingered in Billy’s back pocket on the curve of his ass. And Billy just fucking took it.

"Now let’s see what we have here..." He flipped through Billy’s wallet, still holding him to the wall. "Billy... Tallent. With two ells. Somebody’s been failing his spelling tests, now hasn’t he? Come now, Mr. Tallent-with-two-ells, that can’t possibly be the name your mother gave you. And I’m supposed to believe you’re twenty-two? When your friend Mr. Dick over here is still eighteen? I think not."

"Fuck you," Billy said, but his heart wasn’t in it. If they’d been alone, Joe would have shook his head in disgust.

"Such language," Kelly said in scandalized tones, and casually cuffed Billy across the back of the head. He pushed his knee higher, forcing Billy to stand tip-toe. Joe looked back at the desk sergeant, who merely raised one eyebrow, and went back to checking the log. Bastard.

"Now what do we have here?" Kelly pulled out the small rectangle of plastic with a flourish. "Vancouver Public Library--expired--issued to one William Boisy, Jr. Well now, Junior, can’t get a library card as William Tallent-with-two-ells, now can we? Do you have a record, Junior? I bet you have a record. Let’s see what we can find out about you, now shall we?" He pulled Billy back by the collar of his shirt, and let him fall into one of the scarred, straight-backed chairs lining the opposite wall.

Billy stared straight ahead, shoulders set and lips tight. The mountie wasn’t looking; he was over at the front desk asking how the sergeant’s fucking _wife_ was doing.

"Hey." Joe squeezed Billy’s knee.

Billy didn’t answer.

"He's just fucking with us." Joe slouched lower in his seat.

Kelly looked back at them and Joe could have sworn that the fucker blew him a fucking _kiss_.

Joe was on his feet, ready to take a swing at the asshole, but he never even had a chance. He should have seen that one fucking coming. But he didn’t. He didn’t see the punch either, the punch that left him sprawled across the floor, cheek pressed to the cold, gritty tile.

"What _are_ today’s youth coming to?" Kelly shook his head sadly. "Now do you have a free interrogation room for me or not?"

Shit.

"Pretty quiet this time of week," the cop on duty said mildly. "Take your pick."

"Oh, I will," he said easily enough.

Joe jumped to his feet. "No fucking way!"

"Kids these days, eh?" the sergeant said sympathetically.

"Do you have another room I can hold this one in for now? I don’t want him in with the grown-ups downstairs."

"Sure, down the hall and to the right."

"Thank you kindly," he said pleasantly. "Come along, Joseph, Junior." He hauled Joe up by his collar with one hand, and took Billy by the elbow with the other, and pushed the two of them around the corner into the hallway.

"Joe, I--you--"

"Shut up, Billy. Not another fucking word," Joe said warningly.

"Listen to your little friend," the mountie said pleasantly, twisting his arms higher than he needed to up towards his shoulder blades.

Billy made a muted sound of protest, but didn’t speak out.

Joe just hoped like hell that he’d keep his fucking mouth shut. He was still a juvie, thank god.

And this time it was Joe who found himself flat against the wall.

" _You_ don’t fuck with _me_ ," Kelly said softly. "You’re already regretting this, aren’t you? Don’t make it any worse than it has to be, Joseph."

"Fuck you," Joe spat defiantly, and nope, didn’t regret that either, not even when the back of his head met the brick wall again. Hard.

"Now don’t be an asshole, Mulgrew."

"It’s Dick," Joe muttered under his breath.

"Oh, we'll just see about that." And with that parting shot, Kelly shoved him into the next room and locked the door behind him. The bewildered look Billy threw over his shoulder made Joe’s stomach twist into icy knots.

Fuck.

Now he was separated from Billy and that just screwed over the whole fucking deal, didn’t it?

And why did the voice in his head sound like Patrick Kelly?

Five minutes passed.

Then ten.

Twenty.

Twenty-five.

Twenty-seven.

The door opened.

Kelly appeared, alone, and pulled Joe down the hall and brought him into the room with the one-way mirror, all without a word. Billy was alone on the other side of the glass, looking shocky and numb. Joe went to bang on the mirror, but Kelly pushed him back against the single table. "I don’t think so, Joseph."

Joe looked around the room; the door stood ajar by at least three inches, and the intercom link back to the desk was turned on. Kelly caught him looking and flicked it to privacy.

He left the door open.

"The way I see it, Joe…Do you mind if I call you that? I’m sure we could keep this all formal and you can call me Mr. Kelly and I’d call you Joseph, but that sounds so stiff. Don’t you think, Joe? So why don’t you call me Patrick and I’ll call you Joe. You don’t mind that, do you? Joe?"

Joe looked at him blankly. He’d been mindfucked by cops before. The best thing to do was shut the fuck up.

Kelly smiled at that. "Good. You’re going to be a tough one. I like that. See, the way I see it, Joe, I’m calling you that because you didn’t object to it, Joe, the way I see it is we have two ways of doing this."

"Doing what?" Joe snapped.

Kelly smirked, and Joe chewed on his bottom lip. He should have fucking kept quiet. "Stand up."

"Fuck you."

Kelly grabbed him and Joe fought back, but he only landed one punch before he was hauled onto his feet. He tried to twist away, but before he knew it, Kelly had the cuffs on his wrists, looped over an exposed pipe. A fucking hot exposed pipe.

"You want to rephrase that, Joe?" Kelly asked.

"Fuck you, asshole," Joe snapped, and then spat. His spittle landed on Kelly’s cheek, and dripped to the floor. He smiled. Still, no regrets.

Kelly smiled back. And kicked out his legs from under him. Joe’s wrists touched the hot pipe twice as he tried to find footing again. "Fucker!" he howled, panting, but Kelly’s smile hadn’t changed.

"More so than you will _ever_ realize. Do you want to know what you have a choice in, Joe, or shall I pick the way we play?"

Joe glared, but didn’t respond.

"I’ll take that as a yes. I mean, you're probably convincing yourself right now that there ain't much I can do to shake you, aren't you, Joe? Guess what. You're wrong."

"You can't fucking touch me."

"As a matter of fact, yes, I can. Do you know what three months in an adult prison would do for someone like Billy? Beautiful, beautiful Billy. He's yours, isn't he? I mean, you can tell me, just between the two of us. You fuck his ass, don't you, I mean sure, he blows you and all, but you really give it to him. Why, Joe? You that good in the sack or do you give him something he needs?"

Joe snarled as he felt the pit of his stomach drop right out. "Touch him, and I'll fucking kill you."

Kelly smiled, a sick, sick, smile, a smile Joe learned to recognize long ago, and leaned in close enough for Joe to smell him. "Now's not the time to be worried about your bitch there. Joe, Joe, Joe, you should worry about your own ass."

"Touch me and I'll--"

"Fucking kill me, yes, yes, I heard that. Oh, tell me how much you want to kill me. Tell me, Joe. Tell me why you're standing still for this. What do you think Billy would do, if he were you right now? Do you think he'd fight? Cry? Whimper your name? Does he expect you to rescue him still?"

"You… I'm going to... _fuck_!" Joe's voice caught. "Don't you fucking touch him," he repeated raggedly.

"Oh, but Joe, I’m not done with _you_ yet. Tell me something, he's such a good boy sitting there, doesn't fidget, doesn't whine. He's been in trouble before, hasn't he? Minor stuff, though, kid stuff. Stuff that _you_ got him into. Where'd you find him?"

"Leave him the _fuck_ out of this!"

"It's a little _late_ for that, _now isn’t it?_ "

Joe flinched. He didn’t want to, but he flinched.

"Do you want to hear your choices or not, Joe?"

"Fuck you," Joe said, but his voice cracked when he said it. It wasn’t exactly a no.

"I let you down. We, as you so charmingly put it, fuck. When we’re done, I let the two of you go. No harm, no foul. You’re a player, Joe, you ain’t nobody’s fool. I’m not going to hurt you, at least not so it'll show."

"Billy goes too?"

"Free as a bird. I’ll even give you your stash back."

Joe bit his lip. Kelly was being too friendly. "And if I tell you to fuck yourself?"

"You wouldn’t want to tell me that. I got your little friend dead to rights and you know it, Joe. What’s more, who’s gonna believe what the bitch says when he’s with a punk like you?"

"Fuck that, too," Joe said weakly.

"Which is gonna piss you off more, Joey, the fact I'm going to fuck your boyfriend up the ass or the fact that I'm going to get in there first? Have you ever been fucked up the ass, Joey? Do you want to be? Do you? What would you do if I fucked you up the ass, Joe? What would you do?"

And Joe stopped fighting, just for an instant, and felt his heart hammering in his chest. Fuck that. He wasn’t going to feel that… that… (helpless)… fucked again. Kelly noticed, obviously, and laughed.

"Well. This changes things, now doesn’t it? So I'm not going to be your first then, Joe. It just breaks my heart. Well. Well, well, well. Who got there first? It wasn't Billy. Was it, Joe? Does he know? Does he know that someone else got there before him? I guess it won't matter then, if I fuck you right here and now, Joe. Will it?"

"If you try, I will kill you," Joe said coldly, so coldly that the words burned in his throat. And he must have hit the right tone, flat, and reasonable, and oh so matter-of-fact, because Kelly backed off, just a bit.

"As if I’d want your tired ass. But that’s a sweet little bucket of chicken sitting there, Joe," he said casually. "Did he lick your finger good? I'm guessing here he doesn't know about you being a bitch and all, but I figure he’s been knocked around before. No way he'd hang out with a dick like you if he was a good kid. What's his story, Joe? Tell me where you found him."

"Fuck you," Joe spat angrily.

"Now, now, Joe. I thought we'd covered that already. If anyone's doing the fucking here, it's me." He ran his hands down Joe's ass, and pressed hard against his balls. "I believe I asked you a question. Where'd you find him?"

Joe took the pain in silence.

"Joe, Joe, Joe. You're not protecting him. I'll find his weakness and fuck him over, you know I will. I'm just suggesting you save us both some time. Tell you what, Joe, tell me where you found him, and I won't fuck him. I mean, I'll play with him a while, but I'll leave his sweet little ass to you. Fuck with me on this, Joe, and you'll be able to hear his screams in here."

Joe looked through the mirror and knew that Billy was nervous and scared and his mouth was probably dry and he needed a cigarette. He kept glancing to the clock on the wall, and then looking back down. He was obviously tired, but too panicked to close his eyes.

"Fuck you. You want to fuck with someone, fuck with me."

"And what's the fun in that, Joe? You've already _been_ fucked."

Joe winced.

"Come on, Joe. You want to keep him from feeling that? That helplessness?" Kelly moved behind him, grazing his ass with his cock. "That disgust?"

Joe didn’t twitch as Kelly pulled the gun out of his boot.

"So what’s it going to be, Joe? Fucking blow me right here, or I’ll fuck your friend. Or how about... new plan. I shoot you in the head right now, fuck your boyfriend, and dump your bodies in a faggot murder-suicide. Whaddya think of that, Joe? Would that work for you better? One punk fucking shoots himself in the head in a jealous rage, no one is going to give a damn, you know. Now, here's what we're going to do..."

Joe froze for a heartbeat. If he kicked Kelly hard enough in the balls as he stood over him, the gun might go off. It would be quick, violent and bloody... and he couldn’t quite force himself to do it.

"Okay," he muttered.

"Okay I kill you and fuck your friend?"

"No!"

"Say it."

"Say what?" Joe snapped.

"Say you’ll get down on your knees and give me a blowjob."

Joe nodded.

"Fucking say it, Joe."

No way. No fucking way he’d actually say the words. His jaw locked, mulishly…but then Billy leaned forward to put his head in his hands, elbows on his knees. He looked tired, scared, and about twelve years old. In trouble again because of that Mulgrew boy. No way that sick fuck was laying a finger on him. "I’llsuckyouoff," Joe hissed, teeth clenched.

Kelly smiled again. "Good boy."

Joe rubbed his wrists after Kelly unlocked him, but when he went to go shut the door, Kelly stopped him. "What are you doing, Joseph?"

"Don’t fucking call me that. I’m shutting the door."

"Did I tell you you could shut the door?"

Joe froze. "You..."

Kelly smiled. "I told you already, you have no idea, Joe. Leave the fucking door open and come here."

The door was open. That was the worst part. At least… before… he didn’t have a choice.

"Sucks to have friends, doesn’t it?" Kelly drawled. "You’d be out of here, no questions asked if it wasn’t for sweet William over there. What’s so special about him, Joe? What makes you voluntarily get down on your knees and suck a man’s cock? Is he that good in bed?"

Joe knelt down. It would be easier to tune out the steady stream of bullshit once he... started. Kelly spread his legs, rubbing his crotch, and then motioned him forward. Joe glared, but it only made Kelly laugh. "C'mere, tough guy," he said.

Joe leaned forward, not sure if he was going to fuck himself over and smash the guy’s teeth in or not, but it was easier after he’d taken the first step. And the second. And then the third. All he had to do was--

Kelly was off the table and behind him and the pain inside his head exploded as he brought the gun down across the side of Joe's skull.

"You couldn’t seriously think I’d let you fuck around so long with me, did you, Joe," Kelly said conversationally. "I was just fucking with ya."

The blow hadn’t knocked him out, but he was too dazed to fight back as Kelly cuffed him to the leg of the table, bolted into the floor.

He moved up, nudged Joe's ass with his thigh. "Of course, if you had just given me what I wanted, I'da left him alone. He's a good kid, he didn’t have to know. Not like you know, do you, Joe?"

"Fuck off," he said shakily.

"He'd be a good toy, wouldn't he? I wonder if he'd break easy. Would he break as easy as you did, Joe? Do you want me to break him? Or would you rather do that yourself?"

"Fuck..." Joe couldn't finish.

He closed his eyes. Fucked again. Kelly leaned forward. "He's hot. You fuck him yet? I'm guessing not, too faggy. Probably won't let you stick it up his ass. Tell you what, Joe, I'll break him in for you."

"Touch him and…"

"And what, Joe? You can't even save yourself. Not from me, not from this, and not even from you."

"You promised," he said. He didn’t just say that. He didn’t just… fuck. He wanted to bang his head against something. Fuck again.

"I fucking lied, Joe. I do that. I did that. And you fucking believed me. Are you always so stupid?"

And Kelly walked behind him, so that there was nothing between Joe and Billy but a sheet of one-way glass. "Now, let's just see what else you're packing there, Joe."

"Don't you _fucking touch me!_ " And Joe's voice cracked and he hated it, and Kelly just shook his head condescendingly.

"Too late, Joe, too _fucking_ late." And he undid Joe’s jeans, letting him just stand there, shaking in anger. At least, he told himself it was anger. Wanted desperately to believe was anger, and not humiliation, and definitely _not_ fear. And then he felt Kelly's hand on his cock.

"Billy’s mine," Joe said rawly.

"Yes," Kelly drawled, "yes, we've determined that he is. Except now, Joe, you're both mine. And I can do whatever the fuck I please. With either of you. Now tell me. Where. You. Found. Him."

And despite all that, Kelly's hand was still lingering on his cock. He twisted to get free. Kelly let him struggle. "Tick tock, Joe."

He couldn’t…fuck…fuck… "Fucking school, all right? Fucking grade nine."

"Not fast enough, Joe. Not fucking fast enough."

Joe closed his eyes, blocked out the visual, but couldn't escape the slick slide of the hand on his cock, and the relentless voice in his ear. "Don't hurt him," he finally managed. "Just don't..."

Kelly laughed in his ear. "Don't worry, he looks like the type that knows what's good for him. I won't hurt him, not like _this_." And Kelly's hand twisted hard. It hurt like a son of a bitch, and Joe couldn't help it, he was gasping, eyes tearing up, and he was fucking _terrified_ for Billy, for himself, and he hated it.

"Fuck!" Joe burst out, but the door had clicked shut. His hands were cuffed (his shoulders starting to ache). He repeated it emptily. "Fuck, fuck, fuckity-fuck."

Billy sat in the next room, fidgeting.

***

And it was worse because Billy wasn’t cuffed and he couldn’t even pull against them, just had to sit and stay and what the _fuck_ was taking so long? He'd been arrested before, sure, but for kid stuff and Joe was always within shouting range even though the cops threatened to gag them both. But this was different. This was being alone in a room for two hours and not even knowing where Joe was.

Billy needed. He needed a cigarette. He needed to go to the john. He needed another joint to keep the hangover finding him in the cold interview room. Most of all he needed Joe.

So by the time the door finally swung open, his stomach was one big knot of tension, leaving him dry-mouthed and sick. Kelly leaned against the door frame and smirked. That didn't help any either.

"Billy, Billy, Billy." Kelly shook his head sadly. "You’ve been a bad boy, haven’t you? Fucked around with the wrong crowd, didn’t you? Of course, when most people... fuck around with the wrong crowd, they don’t actually _fuck_ around, now do they?"

"It’s not like that," Billy mumbled, staring at the cracked concrete floor.

"Oh, so you weren’t sucking his dick there on the beach?" Kelly said genially. "What did he tell you you were doing, Junior?"

Billy was too mortified--and terrified--to answer.

"You do have the right to a lawyer, and you didn’t ask for a phone call. Sure you want to waive that right?"

Billy glanced towards the door. The only one who needed to know was--god knew where Joe was. "No one to call," he muttered.

"Not even your loving parents?"

Billy shuddered.

"So tell me how many times your... father had you arrested," Kelly inquired pleasantly, watching Billy's face. Billy had to shake his head; he couldn’t think straight anymore. "I’ve seen your file, Junior. Daddy’s not pleased with you." He tsk’d and shook his head. "He thinks that Mulgrew punk is such a bad influence, doesn’t he? _Doesn’t he?_ "

Billy jumped at the sudden change of tone. In a split second, the patronizing facade had split right across, and the fangs had come out.

"Don’t fuck with me, Junior."

His file skittered across the table, and Billy stared at it rather than Kelly. His file. His father's home address and phone number. He was still underage, and the thought of his father driving all night just to pick him up made his skin crawl.

"Go fuck yourself," Billy muttered. Kelly grabbed him and hauled him to his feet.

"Did you want to repeat that, son?"

"No."

"No what, Billy?

"No, sir."

"That's better. You've been well-trained, haven't you?" Billy didn't say anything to that, just glared sullenly at his shoes. "See, that was a question, boy, and when I ask you a question, you answer. Understood?"

"Yes, sir."

"Good. Now, tell me exactly what your relationship is with Mr. Mulgrew."

"He's my friend."

Kelly leaned in closer. "Don't lie to me. Never lie to me."

"He's my friend," Billy repeated, and winced. There was no other way he could phrase it. He kept his body tense, expecting the blow, but Kelly only patted his shoulder.

Billy looked up, confused. Kelly was smiling.

"I’m willing to believe this was all just a misunderstanding, Billy," he said.

"No, you aren’t," Billy said scornfully, but something painfully like hope was beginning to surface.

"I am. Joe sold you out. Your grass, your arrest, your crime. He's eighteen now, you know, I guess he doesn't want to go to jail for real. Unlike you. I guess that's fair, though, you'll get six months tops. Maybe not in a juvie hall, but it's not three years, right?"

"You're fucking lying." Joe wouldn't do that.

"Am I? He’s a punk, Billy, and you’re just his bitch. You do what he says when he says it and licks his palm clean afterwards. Don’t think I don’t fucking see that. Didn’t see that."

He didn't fight as Kelly hauled him to his feet. "Cheer up, Billy, I'm sure your very special friend won't be too long in joining you."

It was his bust. His fucking bust. Joe didn’t have to sell him out, he had nothing to do with it. "You think you're scaring me?" Billy snarled.

"No, Billy, I think I'm terrifying you, and it's working. So tell me, do you want to go to jail?"

Billy narrowed his eyes, not trusting him. "You giving me a choice here?" he snapped. Kelly raised his hand and Billy dropped his eyes. "Sir," he added, surly.

"Why yes, William, as a matter of fact I am. So what's it going to be? Jail? Or..."

"Or?"

"Don't make me spell it out, William," Kelly said as he reached down and brushed against his crotch, once. "I’m not asking for anything you’re not already giving away."

Billy shook his head, face hot. "No. No way. No fucking way."

Kelly backhanded him twice, hard enough to make his head spin. "Jail will mean some hard knocks on that pretty face."

It was the wrong thing to say. Billy smiled even though his lip cracked and bled. "Too late," he croaked.

Kelly smiled back. "That it is. Much too late for you and your little friend. You're playing with the grown-ups now, Junior."

Fuck. The two nights he'd spent in juvie opened his eyes. No one had fucked with him; Joe saw to that even when he wasn't in with him, but that didn't stop Billy from hearing what happened in the shower room.

"Enjoy your stay. I'll come visit you. If you're out of the infirmary by then. I'm sure they won't--"

Kelly got almost to the door. Billy couldn't sit still and wait any longer.

"You, uh, got a smoke, man?" he asked.

Kelly turned around. "And if I did?"

"Could I... uh... borrow one?"

"You aren't staying here long, William."

"What if I... were?"

Kelly smiled lazily and shut the door again, leaning against it. "So that's the way we're playing now, is it? Is it, Billy? Is this what you want?"

No, no, it wasn't. He wanted a smoke. He wanted out of there. He wanted Joe. But if there was one thing Billy knew all too well, it was that you didn't always get what you wanted. Hardly ever, when it came right down to it.

He held out his hand, and it only shook a little. "The smoke," he said.

Kelly pulled a pack out of his hip pocket and took out a cigarette, holding it loosely in his hand at waist level. "Here." Billy tried to take it, but Kelly held it high. "Ah, ah, not with your hands."

"You're a sick fuck."

"I know that, Billy. Not with your hands."

Billy, hating himself for doing it, leaned forward and took the smoke between his lips.

"There's a good boy."

He wanted to glare, but grabbed his lighter instead. Kelly slapped it out of his hands.

"Wait for it." He pulled out his own lighter, a solid metal zippo.

Billy stared at his hands. He didn't know if he wanted to swear or beg, so silence was his best bet. Kelly finally sheltered the flame and Billy leaned foward into it.

Kelly caught the back of his neck, holding him to the flame. Billy tried to pull back, but the hand was iron. Fuck. Fuck, fuck, fuck.

"Are you going to be a good boy, Billy?" Kelly asked disinterestedly.

"Fuck off, you freak!"

"That’s not good, Billy." Kelly pulled the flame closer.

He could feel the heat against his cheek, tightening the skin. "I'll be good. I'll be good," Billy said, trying to keep from sounding desperate. Oh, yeah, right, it was too late for that, too.

"Now, you're sure about that?" Kelly said, sounding mildly amused. Sick fuck.

"Yeah."

"Absolutely positive? Because, you know, unless you're absolutely, positively sure, then--"

"I'm sure!" He was desperate, definitely desperate.

"Good, Billy," Kelly said, and let go. Billy threw himself back in the chair, tossing the cigarette away. Kelly picked it up and replaced it. "I thought you liked putting disgusting things in your mouth, Billy. You wanted this, so you're fucking going to smoke it." Billy shook his head, but Kelly narrowed his eyes and Billy leaned forward again.

He expected the pain, but Kelly let him light it and sit back down again. Kelly did nothing while he sat there and smoked. Not that it calmed him at all when every breath knotted inside him. "Relax, Billy. I'm not going to hurt you unless you ask me to."

And what the fuck was he supposed to say to that? He drew out the cigarette as long as he could, but of course, he couldn't make it last forever. Nothing lasts forever. And sometimes, like now, he was glad of it. Even this would be over. He just had to... had to...

"Done?" Kelly asked over steepled fingers. Shit.

There was nothing left of the cigarette, but Billy stubbed it out anyway. "Yeah," he said. He didn't say sir.

"I bet you're asking yourself what I want right about now. And I'm willing to bet you’re thinking if you do this all willingly I'm not going to ask for much. You're wrong, Billy. Stand up."

He did.

"Turn around. Brace yourself up against the wall."

The bottom dropped out of Billy's stomach.

He shook his head. "No," he whispered, but turned around anyhow. He couldn't make it to the wall. It was too far away; his knees were weak.

Kelly's face flickered. Good cop was dead and buried. Bad cop was back. "You pissing me off here, Billy? We had a deal." Billy shook his head, trying to explain what the problem was, but Kelly grabbed him and threw him against the table. He hit his hip hard, and then banged his chin.

"You--you said you wouldn’t--"

"What, that I wouldn’t hurt you? I did, didn’t I?"

"Yeah, you did."

"I lied," he said pleasantly. "Now don’t feel so bad, Billy, your boyfriend believed me too." Kelly smiled. "Besides, you were asking for it." Kelly smacked the back of his head with enough force to bounce his forehead off the tabletop.

"What did you do to Joe?" Billy tried to sound tough. He wanted to sound tough. He didn’t sound tough. Not even a little. Just whiny. Joe would be laughing his ass off right about now.

"What _didn’t_ I do to Joe," Kelly corrected him mildly. "The boy’s an adult now, you know. In the eyes of the law. Oh, but don’t worry, Junior. I left him in one piece. We had... an arrangement."

Like he could trust a single word the bastard said. Joe was fine. He had to be fine. He wouldn’t let anybody fuck with him, Billy knew that. It was _Joe_ , ferkrissakes.

"You know what our problem is here, William? There’s no trust in our relationship any more. What happened to the trust, I ask? See, I trust you to be the snot-nosed little shit we both know you are, and you trust me to know what’s best for you. And you _should_ trust me to know what’s best for you, but instead, you put all your faith in a--well, best you ask him about that."

"Fuck you," Billy muttered sullenly.

"What a positively inspired idea..."

"I was joking."

"I wasn't."

"Fuck this."

"If you insist..." Kelly hauled him up to his feet, pulling back on the collar of his shirt hard enough to make him choke. "Is this the way you like to play it, Billy? Is it? Is this the way you play with Joe? You like it rough, don’t you Billy? I bet you like it rough."

"No," Billy said hoarsely.

"No, no what? No, you don’t want to play this way? No, you don’t like it rough. Is he... tender with you, Bill? Are you in _love?_ "

"Fuck you," Billy repeated brokenly.

"You know, you really should stop telling me that, Billy. I’m beginning to think you want me to take you up on the offer."

None of this whole fucking mess made _any_ sense any more. The cops weren’t supposed to play this way. They weren’t supposed to fucking grope you and lick their lips when you bled. And above all else, they weren’t supposed to take you away from Joe. "Stop it. Just... stop it." Billy choked.

"Stop it, just stop it," Kelly mocked in a high falsetto. "Okay. Sure. I’ll stop, you can walk out that door right now and go home. Is that what you thought would happen? What I’d say? Well, I’ll tell you this, Junior, you aren’t as much fun as I thought you’d be." He reached over and slapped him casually across the face. "Are you?"

It wasn’t that hard. Billy’d been hit worse in schoolyard fist fights. But he turned back, hand to his cheek, and felt... didn’t feel much of anything any more.

"Oh, so pitiful! So... compliant. You look at Joe like that, Billy?"

"What do you want?" Billy said dully.

"Very good, Billy! A complete sentence out of you without using the word fuck once. Maybe there is hope for you yet. Joe hits you, doesn’t he?" Kelly continued conversationally.

"No he doesn’t," Billy blinked. Not unless Billy hit him first. Where the fuck had _that_ come from?

"Yes, he does."

"No, he doesn’t."

"Yes, he does."

"No, he doesn’t!" Enough with this bullshit. It was starting to piss Billy off. And at least that broke through the numbness and hid the fear. For now.

Kelly smiled. "Of course he does, Junior. Why else would you give him your sweet ass?"

"It’s not like that," Billy insisted.

"Isn’t it?" Kelly hit him again. "Not like _this?_ "

"No!"

"How about this?" A third time.

"Fuck! No!" Billy yelped. He licked his lips. The blood from his nose was starting to drip down onto his shirt. Kelly definitely didn’t know the rules. His father never would have left any marks. On his face.

"You so sure about that, Junior? Someone’s roughed you up, haven’t they? Who hit you, Billy? Was it for your own good? Does Joe do things for your own good?"

"Fucking get over it! Joe does not hit me like that. He--"

"He what, Junior?"

Billy looked away, jaw clenched tight. He’d said too much already.

"Oh. Oh, I see. Who hits you, Billy?"

Silence.

The sharp pain was almost a relief as Kelly slapped him again.

"We can do this all night, if you want." Kelly pulled a chair up to the table, sat back, and folded his arms across his chest.

"Aha." He reached out, one finger tapping the file folder in the middle of the table. "Dear old dad."

Billy paled, which made the pain from his bruised cheek worse.

"Joe really was a bad influence, wasn’t he? Your old man must just hate that."

"He can’t do a fucking thing about it now," Billy snapped. "I’m free of the fucker."

"What would he do if I told him I caught you fucking around on a public beach, Junior? I mean, stealing cars and being drunk in public is one thing, but public fagdom? He’s going to be pissed. You’re going to be a good boy, aren’t you, Billy?"

Fucking redundancy. If he were Joe, he’d say something about it, but all he could do was nod.

Kelly smiled. "Say it."

"I’m…" Billy started, but then froze, and was backhanded for it.

"Fucking say it, William!"

Billy shook his head, but the words came before he could stop them. "I’m going to be a good boy."

Kelly stood up and sat down in front of him. Billy couldn’t meet his eyes. Kelly was smirking at him. "What’s the matter, Billy, you don’t want to… slip with me? I’ve been looking forward to slipping with you all night."

Billy jerked back. "No way in hell."

"Funny, that’s what your boyfriend said."

"He’s not…"

"I don’t care, Billy."

Billy yelped again as Kelly grabbed him by the scruff of the neck and threw him against the wall. Billy started to fight, kicking out behind him, but Kelly kept him pinned. "Go ahead and fight, bitch," he grunted as Billy threw himself back.

Billy tried to hold still, but he couldn’t. Not with Kelly’s hands hard on his hips. "You’d let me, wouldn’t you? Let me fuck you up the ass. And you know what? You’d _like_ it," Kelly hissed, breath hot against Billy’s ear. "Wouldn’t you?"

Billy squeezed his eyes shut.

"Say it, Billy."

"I..." Joe’s voice in his head was gone. Nobody home but Billy, all alone. Nothing left for Billy to do but what he always did.

Give in.

"I’d like it," he whispered, sick to his stomach.

Kelly’s grip tightened, and for a heartbeat, Billy was sure he was fucked, right royally fucked, and then...

Kelly let him go.

Billy collapsed and brought his knees up, hugging them tight to his chest. He didn’t turn his head as Kelly went back to the desk and picked up his file. Flipped through the pages. Let it fall to the table again, and leaned back in his chair with a satisfied smirk. "I’ll just go make that call, shall I?"

"Whatever," Billy said dully. The floor was cold and he was starting to get stiff. He pulled himself up to his feet and lurched back to the table, falling into the chair. It was five o’clock in the morning, and his father would be furious at the phone call, and he just couldn’t bring himself to care. At least then this whole fucking (terrifying) mess would be over.

"It was nice chatting with you, William. Really nice. We’ll have to do this again some time, shall we? But for now, I find myself... bored. Bored to tears. You’re really a very boring person, did you know that, Billy? I thought you’d put up twice the fight Joe did, saving yourself for him and all that shit. Guess not."

The door shut behind Kelly with an audible click.

Billy put his head down on his arms, shoving the file out of his way. It skittered across the table, strewing paper in its wake.

Blank paper.

He stared at the empty pages. Of course. What the fuck would his file be doing in Kelowna, after all?

And where the hell was Joe? If he was--fuck. Joe wouldn’t leave him alone. Not even if the bastard had a gun to his head. He’d... Joe was okay. He had to be.

Because if Joe was dead, then so was Billy.

The door opened. Billy didn’t look up. Didn’t want to know.

"Billy. C’mon."

It was Joe. Thank god, it was Joe.

"Hey."

"The back door’s unlocked. We gotta split," Joe said tersely.

"Can’t."

"Why the fuck not?"

"Knees won’t work."

"Don’t make me fucking carry you out of here, Bill. Just... let’s go."

Joe was standing beside him, warm and solid. He smelt like sweat and metal and cold concrete, and under that, just Joe.

Billy wasn’t going to break down and cry, not now.

"Come _on_ ," Joe said, arms locked around Billy’s ribcage, pulling him up to his feet. Joe sounded... edgy. Maybe even nervous. Tense. If Billy didn’t know better, he’d say scared shitless.

"Can you walk?"

"If I say yes, will you let go?"

Joe didn’t let go, just slung one of Billy’s arms over his shoulder and headed for the door, pulling Billy along right beside him.

"Joe, he--I mean--"

"I know. C’mon."

Enough said.

They stumbled down the hall and out through the side door--Billy kept waiting for sirens and lights, but nothing happened.

Two hours later the last of their cash was gone and they were on a bus headed back to Vancouver.

***

As soon as they pulled out of the terminal, Joe lifted up the arm rest dividing the seats and pulled Billy down to lie across his lap. The blue-haired matron across the aisle glared.

Joe glared back.

She looked away first.

Joe sunk down further in his seat. It was another twenty minutes before either of them  
spoke.

Joe could tell his hands were too tight in Billy’s hair, but Billy didn’t ask him to stop, and Joe just couldn’t seem to loosen his grip.

Billy turned his head. "Hey, look at me."

"Fuck off, Billy." If he looked, he’d see the bruises, now dark purple against Billy’s cheek. And if Billy looked at him, he might see--

"Fuck that. Look at me, Joe."

"Why should I?"

"What, like you need a reason now?"

"You’re an asshole, Billy."

"So're you."

Joe looked down, paused, and exhaled.

"Yeah, I am."

And he started to relax at that, not all at once but a little bit at a time until Billy closed his eyes and drifted off again, breath warm and even against Joe’s thigh.

***

When they finally got back to Vancouver, they spent the three weeks co-existing in the same space, breathing the same air, but very carefully Not Talking about... It. But Not Talking about It turned into not talking at all. And worse yet, it also turned into not touching. Not just _touching_ touching, but the casual brush of a hand across a back, shoulder to shoulder in the hall, or sitting side by side on the couch, not... together, not even close. And at night, Joe would pull so far away from him that he’d fallen out of bed three nights out of the past four. And when he hit the floor, he stayed there for the rest of the night.

Some nights, Joe took off without Billy. He always came home the next morning, sometimes with bruises, sometime without. Billy ignored the bruises and tried to ignore how cold the shitty fold-out couch felt at nights without him.

Joe knew something. And he wasn’t telling. And the whole not-touching shit was starting to get to Billy. _Joe_ was starting to get to him, like he was some kind of fucking junkie who didn’t know he was addicted until his supply was cut off.

Billy got up, went to the fridge and took out the first six-pack. They sat there and drank quietly for most of the night until they were too stupid to stand, and Joe finally rocked his head sideways onto Billy’s shoulder.

"It won't work."

"What won't?"

"Getting me drunk."

"Oh no, Joe. You’re not drunk at all. Shit, why would I _want_ to get you drunk? When’d I ever have to _try?_ "

"So I'll fucking talk."

"Like you need any fucking encouragement," Billy said defensively.

"Just drink your beer, Billiam."

Billy passed out first, and when he woke up, Joe had pulled the blanket up over him, and was obviously intending on getting up, but instead, ended up curled beside him (around him) on top of the blanket.

Joe wasn’t in the trailer when he got up. He was sitting on the front step, watching some asshole across the street yell at his kid, pulling him towards the car.

"Sweet kid," Joe said. There was irony in his voice.

Billy sat down as well. The morning was cold, so he sat between Joe's legs on the bottom step, and Joe rested his forearms across his shoulders. Joe lit up a cigarette, put it in Billy's mouth. Billy took it gratefully. "Wanna hear a story?"

"Yeah."

"The boy, see, that's not his father. Who the fuck knows where his father was or is, his dumb mother sure as hell didn't tell him. So she married the first fucker who came around and didn't mind the brat at her heels. Just one big fucking happy family, you know? And she was so stupid on pills and booze and god knows what else she didn't give a fuck. Yeah, sure, he knocked her around for being stupid--she was stupid. So he started to knock the kid around too. No big deal, the kid fucking deserved it."

Billy didn't say anything, and resolutely Did Not Notice the pained lines at the corners of Joe's eyes, or the way his jaw was clenched tight.

Joe stole the smoke from him, inhaled deeply. "So, yeah. Kid learns not to leave his fucking toys out where the old man could step on them. Not to make any noise when the old man's watching TV. Not to ever fucking touch anything of the old man's. His mom sees it, you know. She sees how things change. The fucker stops giving out the reasons why. And she don't do nothin' to stop it, 'cause if he's beating on the kid, he's not taking it out on her, and she's okay with that."

And Billy just couldn't Not Notice Joe's white-knuckled fist (the hand not holding the smoke) and the way his nails were digging into the base of his thumb. He silently reached up and covered Joe's hand with his own and lifted his fingers one by one, until Joe's fist was curled around Billy’s open hand instead. Joe put the cigarette back between Billy’s lips and covered their joined fingers with his free hand.

"Bad seed, you know? Fucking bad seed." And Joe laughed with absolutely no pleasure. "The kid comes home from school one day. Things are going okay. He’s learning to play good with others, even made a new friend.

"Mom's split.

"Her stuff's gone. He hadn't expected her to stay forever, but fuck... he kinda thought she'd take him with her when she went. And the old man... oh, he's pissed. Fucking pissed. Starts drinking a lot. Never did that much before. Wants to dump the kid, but the kid has his last name and it wouldn't be proper. So he keeps the kid around. To fetch him his beer and shit. Kid can't stand the fucker. Stays away a lot. But he doesn’t leave. Fucking stupid. He thinks his mom's gotta be coming back for him and if he takes off, she won't know where to find him.

"Turns out the old man misses her more than the kid does.

"The kid didn't think it would hurt that much. He'd heard them in the bedroom, but... fuck, you know? Fuck."

Joe was gripping his hand hard enough that Billy was half-afraid he was going to break something.

"Joe--" he started.

Stopped. What was there _to_ say?

"Storytime's over," Joe said abruptly, and stood up.

Billy, shivering, jumped to his feet. "Joe..."

"What, Billy? What the _fuck_ do you want?"

"You…"

The cold self-hatred didn't leave Joe's face. "Me?" he drawled.

Billy's jaw tightened. "Joe," he said, following him into the trailer. "Hey. Joe."

Joe was standing in front of the sink, hands on the counter, shoulders tight.

"Let me tell you a story."

"You fucking suck at telling stories, remember?"

"Just let me try. When I... I mean... when you... punched my dad out, I didn't really, you know... feel much at the time. But you..."

"Apples and fucking severed heads, Billy. Your dad knocked you around for your own fucking good. If you had listened to the asshole, you never would have gotten involved with the likes of me."

"That Mulgrew boy."

"Ex-fucking-xactly."

"I wanted to get involved with that Mulgrew boy. That Mulgrew boy was the first person who actually gave a damn about me."

"That Mulgrew boy was using you, Billy. Clue in. He needed you more than you needed him."

"That's not true," Billy said automatically.

Joe just looked at him cynically. But under the cynicism, there was something deep and raw and bleeding.

"I..." Billy licked his lips. "I need you. A lot."

Joe opened his mouth.

"No," Billy repeated more firmly. "I mean it. I need you."

"What do you want from me, William?" Joe asked.

Billy walked over to him. Took Joe's hands. Put them over his throat. Squeezed, a little too hard. Difficult to swallow, swallowed anyway. "You, you fuckhead. You're like... my right hand."

"The one you jerk off with," Joe said, but he was careful not to move his hands.

"Yeah. Basically."

"That's so fucking flattering," Joe snorted, but left his hands on Billy's neck, one thumb moving slowly back and forth over the pulsepoint. He stared somewhere over Billy's left shoulder, eyes gone vague and distant.

Billy reached over, pulled his chin towards him. "Hey, Joe Dick," he said.

Joe looked at him, almost smiled, didn't. "What the fuck do you want?"

Billy moved up to nestle his thigh between Joe's. "I can think of a couple things."

Joe snagged his fingers in the belt loops on Billy’s jeans. "Yeah?"

"Yeah. Shit happens, Joe."

"Yeah. It does."

Billy wrapped his arms around Joe's shoulders, head tilted sideways.

"I meant it, y'know," he said softly. Their faces were close enough that his lips rasped over Joe's unshaven cheek.

"Yeah?" Joe's breath was warm against his neck.

"Joe?"

Joe stopped biting his neck but didn't say anything. The stubble fucking tickled.

"That kid... it wasn't his fault. The kid knows that, right?"

"Shut up, Billy. That kid's dead."

Silence.

Long fucking silence. The two of them just stood there, inhaling, exhaling.

Joe’s chin was resting on Billy’s shoulder. Billy’s arms were around Joe’s neck. Joe still had his fingers hooked into Billy’s jeans. They were standing close enough that Billy could feel Joe’s chest move with each breath he took.

Yeah. They were good.


End file.
